


Losers Weepers

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season 7 Canon Divergence, Tumblr Prompt, amnesia cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was sentimentality that stayed Crowley’s hand with the memory-less angel. Perhaps he grew fond of Emmanuel. He was convenient, and he presented delightful opportunity. Revenge through claiming the vessel of his old partner. Making the poor beast fall in love with him. </p>
<p>That’s what happened, isn’t it?</p>
<p>--<br/>Season 7 Alternate History</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losers Weepers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this lovely Tumblr anon post:
> 
> _Yes, Emmanuel/Crowley! It's amusing to see that kindness and tenderness are more difficult for Crowley to decline than any of more forceful persuasion. I wonder how Emmanuel would regain his memory. Perhaps he would save Crowely from some random backstabbing demon? But of course, his memory would be incomplete with only 1 smiting, turning him into s4 Castiel or something. Suddenly all emotion melts from Emmanuel's face. "I'll spare you once, demon," and he flutters away. Cue confusion for them x)_
> 
> Tumblr anons know I can't turn down an opportunity for Crowstiel whump ;)
> 
> Sequel to [Finders Keepers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3304415)

When Castiel returned, he told Crowley he would spare the demon once. Flee, he said. If their paths crossed again, he would die. 

Was that any way to speak to an old business partner? But Crowley was too stunned to rankle that blank exterior. 

Everything fell apart so fast.

The lower ranks of Hell should have understood the threat posed by the Leviathans. Plotting an overthrow of the throne would be foolish. The existence of all was in jeopardy. 

But, some of these demons did not see the bigger picture. With Leviathans chomping at their heels, the idiots moved on the King of Hell. 

The uprising should have been easily vanquished. Crowley destroyed all but one with a snap of his fingers. 

But one was smarter than the others. He came from behind. Pulled the hidden angel blade from Crowley’s jacket. Held it to his back, seconds from victory. 

A cold, white light burst between them. Emmanuel. 

His memory-less pet had a hand on the demon’s forehead. Emmanuel’s eyes were wide with confusion, but he somehow knew what to do. 

The demon fell in a lifeless heap. Smoke wafted from his eye sockets.

"Emmanuel?" Crowley murmured.

It was fascinating, the way Emmanuel’s face changed. Wide, frightened eyes frosted over. Lips once parted with shock tightened with all-too-familiar righteousness.

The angel glanced at the body on the floor.

"Castiel?" Crowley tried.

That is when Castiel said he would spare Crowley once. Crowley was to flee this place and never return. If he did not leave, there would be consequences. Then, he vanished.

Yes, it was Castiel. 

But…it was not Castiel. There was no recognition in the face of the boy wonder. This Castiel did not know Crowley. Crowley! The King of Hell!

Crowley was frustrated. He had just spent months rehabilitating one memory-less angel. Only to have his efforts thwarted by a pack of demon-traitors!  

Crowley should have killed Emmanuel when he had the chance. 

Oh, he had so many chances.

In the kitchen, over coffee - one of few human consumables Emmanuel enjoyed.

Or in the living room, watching TV. Emmanuel looked at him, then shifted to lean against his side. Crowley set a hand on his thigh and pretended not to see the brain dead bird smile. 

Or at night, when separate bedrooms became a shared one. Neither required sleep, but the ritual of bedtime had other benefits.

The first time Emmanuel offered Crowley his back, Crowley nearly came at the sight. His legs were spread generously, and his ass was raised, inviting every sinful touch Crowley could envision. 

But it wasn’t just sex, was it? It was the quiet moments after. Lying in darkness, Crowley’s arm around his waist.

He whispered soothing words as Emmanuel swallowed back tears. Another vision, he would say. Another memory that could not be real. Emmanuel was in a field one night, in a church another. So much blood. Smoldering corpses. He saw himself, serene, walking through these scenes of death.

This was how Castiel looked when Emmanuel ceased to be. Peaceful. Dead. A mindless Garrison soldier. 

***

Crowley does not flee, of course. He is the King of Hell. The King of Hell does not run.

Perhaps it is in in his best interest to leave. But, truth is, he is dying to call Castiel’s bluff. Let his old partner return. Castiel is a statue now. His frozen demeanor will make him easier to kill.

It was sentimentality that stayed Crowley’s hand with the memory-less angel. Perhaps he grew fond of Emmanuel. He was convenient, and he presented delightful opportunity. Revenge through claiming the vessel of his old partner. Making the poor beast fall in love with him. 

That’s what happened, isn’t it?

***

Crowley returned home one evening, and Emmanuel came to him immediately. He embraced Crowley, frantic. 

Crowley was immediately on edge. "What happened?" he asked.

Emmanuel’s eyes closed with complete trust. Amazing. He trusted Crowley more than he trusted himself. 

"Fergus," Emmanuel rasped. "You have to kill me."

Crowley set hands on his shoulders. “What?”

"I killed those people," Emmanuel whispered. He looked so wild, so desperate. "My visions. They’re memories, Fergus."

"You don’t know that, love-"

"I do!" Emmanuel pressed. "I’m not a good person. My abilities, the healing, I thought God meant for me to… But I’m not a good person, Fergus. You have to kill me. Use your blade."

Crowley froze. “My blade.”

"The one you keep with you, Fergus," Emmanuel said. "The one you hide. To protect yourself, from me." His voice broke.

"Emmanuel."

Emmanuel pulled away from him. His whole body was shaking. “Please, Fergus.”

"No," Crowley said.

Emmanuel stared at his own hands, turning them disbelievingly. "What I did to those people. I could do it to you too."

"Stop, Emmanuel."

"I could hurt you," Emmanuel insisted, raising wild eyes. "I could kill you!"

"Do it, then. If you can kill me, do it, love."

"No! I-"

"Go on, angel." Crowley stared at him. "I’ll forgive you, won’t I?"

Emmanuel fell silent. He cupped Crowley’s face with unsteady hands.

When Emmanuel closed his eyes, the tears fell, hot and ashamed. Crowley knew, in that moment. The fool was in love with him. Poor, mighty Castiel. Truly off-his-rocker.

What a perfect time to kill him. There would be no better chance. 

Crowley embraced him instead. He kissed Emmanuel and whispered idiot things to him. Small, quiet assurances that everything would be okay. 

Castiel was his mortal enemy. But Emmanuel was not Castiel.

Crowley realized, then. He had no intention of killing Emmanuel, not now or ever. Because Crowley fell for the marble-less bird too, didn’t he?  

What a disaster.

***

It turns out, Castiel does call his bluff. Somewhat.

He appears as Crowley is reading that day’s paper, legs kicked up on the sofa. But his relaxation is a practiced ruse. As soon as he hears the flutter of wings, he is on his feet, blade drawn.

"As you can see, sweetheart, I did not flee," Crowley says. "And I do not intend to die."  

He wavers when he sees the condition in which the angel appears to him.

Inexplicably, Castiel has found time to recreate his terrible wardrobe. Black slacks, white dress shirt, no tie - ah, a fashion risk! And that damned trench coat. It is  filthier than usual, stained with blood and…is that black Leviathan goo?

But the wardrobe doesn’t hold Crowley’s attention. It’s Castiel’s eyes. Swollen red. Wet and bleary. 

Castiel sinks to his knees. He stretches his arms wide. “Kill me,” he says.

Crowley stands over the kneeling angel. Is this an early Christmas gift? This is everything he’s waited for. The perfect finale! 

The only problem is, Castiel’s death was supposed to be on Crowley’s terms. This posture of sacrifice is nauseating. Crowley feels uncomfortable.

"I assume this means you remember everything?" he asks.

"Yes," Castiel says. He opens his eyes but keeps them averted from Crowley’s. 

"Then why are you asking me to spill your blood on my carpet?"

Castiel grits his teeth. “I deserve to die,” he answers. “The death toll in Heaven, on Earth. Bobby Singer is dead. Sam is dying.

"I can’t ask it of Dean. He won’t do it, he shouldn’t. And I can’t do it myself, I’m…"

_A coward._ It goes unspoken, as Castiel swallows tightly.

"So you’ve come to me," Crowley says. "To finish what the great Castiel cannot."

Castiel’s expression darkens, but he does not argue. 

Crowley makes a pensive sound. Looks at the angel at his feet.

"No," he says.

Castiel turns wild eyes on him. His glare burns blue with the violence of Heaven. “What do you mean ‘no’!?” he demands.

Crowley stows the blade in his jacket. He folds his arms before the angel’s fury. “No,” he repeats.

"Is this a game?" Castiel’s voice falters with desperation. "You have to kill me-"

"I don’t have to do anything," Crowley replies.

"Crowley… Fergus-"

At the sound of his true name, Crowley sees red.

Crowley grabs the angel’s hair so fast that Castiel forgets his own submission. Castiel struggles against him on instinct, stumbling when Crowley pushes him. His weight crashes into the wall, leaving an imprint of shoulders. He tries to scramble, but the demon is fast, shoving him onto his back.

Months of rage and betrayal manifest themselves. They find themselves on the ground, fighting like heathens. No powers of Heaven or Hell on display. No demon daggers or angel blades. Just two bodies flailing. Punching and kicking. Tearing skin and hair, bruising and bloodying each other.

Brawling like idiots. Mindless, pathetic humans!

They only stop when they have hands at each other’s necks, glaring blue and red. Their throats constrict painfully. Blood stains their faces, and bruises shine beneath torn clothing.

"I thought I was doing the killing today, darling," Crowley reminds him. His voice is absurdly light, given the circumstances.

Castiel releases Crowley and sits back on his heels. The angel looks dazed, staring at the imprint of his body left in Crowley’s wall.

Crowley eyes it too, scowling. “You are an insurance nightmare,” he mutters.

"I didn't mean-"

"It’s a joke," Crowley says, with a roll of his eyes. "You didn’t come back smarter after regaining your marbles, I see."

The angel considers him for a moment.

"I don’t understand," Castiel murmurs, cautious. "You were kind to me, Crowley. I enslaved you, betrayed you. Why didn’t you kill me?"

Crowley shrugs. 

"Crowley-"

"I’m not answering that question, Cas," Crowley says. "Don’t ask it again."

Castiel is not satisfied, but he does not press. He stands and waves a glowing hand over his face. The wounds from their scuffle evaporate in seconds.

Before Crowley can protest, Castiel cups his chin with the same hand. The blood and bruises fade from Crowley’s skin.

Crowley smacks his hand away. “I’m more than capable-“

"I know," Castiel says.

Crowley eyes him suspiciously. “Then why-“

"I’m not answering that question, Crowley." The angel’s mouth ticks upward. 

Crowley groans. He stands a safe distance away from Castiel, who watches with interest.

"Well then," Crowley says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Is this when you give me that ‘flee or die’ speech?"

"No," Castiel replies. He glances at the broken wall. "This is when I say thank you." 

His eyes meet Crowley’s. Then, he disappears.

Crowley stares at the empty space left behind by the angel. It takes a minute for him to move.

First, he places a hand on the wall, restoring it to pre-confrontation wholeness. 

Then, he opens the liquor cabinet and pours himself a glass of Craig. Crowley drains it faster than is appropriate. 

“Bollocks,” he mutters.

What a disaster.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) if you want to talk Cas, Crowley, or general whatever with me ^_^


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